


There's Nothing Wrong With You ~ Enoch x Horace

by Random_Hufflepuff



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Angst, But not cringy gay, Confessions, Gay, I hope, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, No Sex, No Smut, Why Did I Write This?, cause why not, enorace, it's three in the morning, like super gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Hufflepuff/pseuds/Random_Hufflepuff
Summary: After decades of denial, Enoch O'Connor finally accepts that it's not girls he likes, but guys. On top of that, the guy he has a crush on is his friend, Horace Somnusson. After this realization, and plenty of pestering from others, he decides to confess to Horace. He expects disgust in return, but there's still the chance that maybe, just maybe, Horace ends up surprising the dead riser with a secret of his own.
Relationships: Enoch O'Connor & Horace Somnusson, Enoch O'Connor/Horace Somnusson
Kudos: 31





	There's Nothing Wrong With You ~ Enoch x Horace

“Do you think my peculiarity is strange?” Enoch asked, feigning an unbothered look and hiding his out of character question behind curiosity.

“Aren’t they all?” Horace replied.

The two thirteen-year-old appearing boys were in the basement, Enoch on his knees shoving his clay spider in a drawer, and Horace sitting in a chair nearby.  
Enoch had taken his spider, about the size of a grapefruit, upstairs to show Miss Peregrine. He had been attempting it for some time now, but he never seemed to get the legs to work. Until now, that is, so when he took it upstairs, he had done so with pride. That went crashing down when Olive had seen it crawling about Enoch’s arm and ran away screaming, accompanied by a poisonous glance from Bronwyn before she went after her. At once, he turned back around to the basement without having shown the headmistress.

Enoch closed the drawer and stood up, dusting the knees of his overalls, before sitting on a stool next to Horace. 

“Don’t be dumb. You know what I mean.” 

Horace, who had seen the ordeal and came downstairs to make sure his friend was okay, knew that the question was rooted in a lot more than curiosity. 

“I think your peculiarity is lovely, Enoch. You give life, how can anyone think that’s anything but spectacular?” Enoch scoffed and rolled his eyes, but pink blossomed on his cheeks in spite of himself. 

“You don’t actually think that,” he said, crossing his arms. 

“I do.” 

The two stared at one another, sincerity filled eyes meeting doubt filled ones. 

And then, without warning, Enoch leaned in and kissed him. 

For just a split second, the dead riser felt filled with life, blissful and warm, infinite.

Until Horace pushed him away. 

“What the hell!?” Enoch’s eyes grew wide with fear, realizing what he’d just done. He thought he would be sick. There was only one thing he could do now — run. 

So he did. He leapt up from his stool and rushed up the stairs two at a time before speeding through and out of the house (“Enoch! Polite persons do not run indoors!” Miss Peregrine yelled after him) and past the yard. He was out of breath. He could feel his heart in his throat and every gasp of air he let in burned his airways. His legs hurt and his head was spinning. 

'Beach. Just have to make it to the beach. No one will think to look for me there… If they notice I’m gone, that is,' he thought. 

When he made it to the beach, he collapsed into the sand for a break. Breathing heavy and covered in sweat, he started to cry. 

“Love is pointless I think,” he said to Hugh once. “You’ll only end up hurt. And that’s just the regular people.” The conversation he had once forgotten about was echoing in his mind. 

“Regular people?” Hugh had responded with, a puzzled expression plastered on his face. 

“Yeah. It’s worse for the people that love differently. The ones that society disregards, you know?” 

Enoch balled up his fists and punched the sand, anger and sadness pulsing through his veins. 

“At least that’s what I’ve heard,” he added rather quickly. Hugh had made a slight ‘mhm’ sound and grabbed a flyaway bee near his temple. 

Enoch laid in the sand. Hugh didn’t think love was pointless. Hugh was normal, heartbreak his only potential consequence. No one would bat an eye the day he and Fiona finally got together. 

Enoch wiped the tears from his face, replacing the streaks with sand. Over the sounds of the sea, he began to hear the rumbling of planes overhead, and didn’t think much of it until he realized that it was daytime. He looked at the formation of planes, dark against the bright blue sky. 

One of them dropped a bomb. 

The bomb. 

He stood, his breath caught in his throat and his heart beating painfully and unnaturally quick. 

Boom. 

And just like that, he was running again, this time toward the house instead of away from it — that is, if it can be called a house anymore. 

The whole top floor was demolished. What once was the roof and the walls lay in pieces on the ground, afire in some areas. The ground floor was in no better of a state. Walls were caving in and windows were shattered. Flames were engulfing the living room. 

It was hard to breath, all the running plus the smoke. His eyes burned and his lungs protested, but he refused to slow. 

Once he was nearer and the smoke had thinned a bit, Enoch was happy to see that the basement, at least from the ground, was practically undamaged. 

'Someone could be in there — someone alive! Or, or maybe Miss Peregrine saw the planes and got everyone in there in time! It might not be so ba —'

Something pulled Enoch from his thoughts and he slowed, halting his journey to the basement. 

A black top hat with holes burned into it.

'No.'

He dropped to his knees and dug at the ruins, throwing brick, wood, glass, bits of furniture, and everything else from around him until —

A finger. 

He continued to remove debri, frantic, not stopping until the whole hand was revealed. 

And once it was, he inspected it with tears flooding his face. 

Neatly filed fingernails, long fingers perfect for playing the piano. 

There was no mistaking that Enoch had found Horace’s body. 

~*~

Enoch gasped and sat up in his bed. He was panting, eyes wide, looking about his room in terror. 

His gaze landed on his desk and upon Phineas, an old clay homunculus that no longer worked that was now used as a paper weight. 

His breathing began to slow. He was alright. It was just a nightmare. 

He gave a small smile to the clay figure. 

Just a nightmare.

No one was dead.

No one was dead. 

Miss Peregrine, Claire, Olive, Bronwyn, Millard, Hugh, Fiona, Emma —

Horace. 

Enoch pinked, the first part of the terrible dream resurfacing in his mind. He had kissed him. 

'No. No,' he thought. 

Enoch O’Connor, emotionally closed off and avid opposer of love, had dreamed of kissing someone. And that someone was not only his friend, but was also a boy. 

He felt sick. 

He’s denied it for a while, having a crush on his well-dressed friend. But he’s denied the male attraction for even longer — decades. This dream seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. He couldn’t deny it, any of it, any longer. 

'Don’t cry,' he thought. 'Don’t cry, don’t do it.'

But he was too late, and he was quickly engulfed in silent sobs. He could almost feel the hopelessness filling his heart. Not even bothering to wipe his tears, he soon cried himself to sleep. 

~*~

Enoch woke again to the sound of knocking at his door. 

“It’s breakfast time,” he heard Claire yell through the door. He groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was surround himself with others. “Enoch?” 

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he grumbled. 

“Okay.” He heard Claire skip down the hall to the next room, Millards, to repeat the process. 

He stretched his arms over his head, yawning, and then got up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

After a quick change from his pyjamas and into his overalls, Enoch left his room and ventured toward the dining hall. He heard a chorus of good mornings from everyone already seated and he responded with his own, half-hearted, good morning and sat down.

“Wow, Enoch, you look like shite,” Hugh commented as he walked into the room after his cycle of good mornings. 

“Shut up,” Enoch said, glaring at him. 

“Hugh, what do I say about cursing?” Miss Peregrine asked. Hugh sighed. 

“Polite persons do not curse,” he said monotonously as he sat in his chair.

“Exactly. Especially in front of children.” Claire and Olive giggled. “You do look rather peaky, though. Are you feeling alright?” 

“Fine,” Enoch mumbled, picking at his pancakes without interest.

“You sure?” He looked up from his plate. It was Horace that spoke this time. He could feel heat rise in his face and he looked back down at his breakfast. 

“I said I’m fine.” Enoch put his fork down. “I’m not hungry,” he added, and he stood and left the room. 

~*~

A few hours had passed since breakfast. Headmistress Peregrine tried asking Enoch if he was alright in private, but he had convinced her that he was just tired.

Part of him wishes he’d told her. He knew he couldn’t keep it bottled up forever. It was just too much. He needed to tell someone. Anyone. Or else he might break down one day and have everyone find out. 

Knock knock knock. 

Enoch groaned. He rolled himself off of his bed and opened the door, revealing Horace. He was dressed in a cerulean blue suit and his blonde hair was slicked back the way it always was. 

“Nope,” Enoch said at once, closing the door as quickly as he opened it. He realized, too late, that Horace put his foot in the gap to prevent it from closing. 

“Ouch,” Horace teased in such a way to bring attention to the fact that the door wouldn’t be closing any time soon, rather than the door actually hurting his foot. 

“What do you want?” Enoch grumbled, his eyes on the floor. 

“Good to see you too,” Horace said, opening the door and walking in before hopping in the chair at Enoch’s desk. He smirked. 

Enoch sighed and closed the door. He returned to his bed. 

“What's got you all upset today?” 

“Why does everyone think I’m upset? I’m tired, let me be tired.” 

“You’re grumpy, too,” Horace taunted. The corners of Enoch’s lips twitched. 

“Invalid observation. I’m always grumpy.” Horace laughed. 

“I guess so. But you look terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He was right. Enoch looked dreadful. His eyes were red and large, puffy bags rested under them. His upper eyelids were dark, and his hair, disheveled. 

Enoch scowled. “Just leave me alone,” he said. “I’m fine.” 

“Then look me in the eye.” 

Enoch bit the inside of his cheek. He moved his gaze to meet the other boy’s eyes. Trying his best to ignore the pink he could feel building on his face, he mumbled a quiet ‘I’m fine’ before looking back down.

“Quite frankly, I don’t believe you.” 

“Well why not?” he asked harshly. Horace hesitated. 

“Because I know what it’s like to not be fine. And you’re definitely not.” 

Enoch considered this. He needed to tell someone, why not Horace? He trusted him the most out of all the peculiars, and preferring guys doesn’t necessarily mean liking someone. He’d never know. 

Enoch sighed, defeated, and Horace knew that he’d won. 

“Do you ever think about the present? Like, the real one?” the dead riser started. 

“Of course.” 

“You ever think about — I don’t know — the sociology of it? The society, the rules. Like, maybe it’s normal for women to have value without men in the equation, which is true of course, but the world doesn’t think like that right now.” Horace furrowed his eyebrows, confused as to the context of the statement. 

“You’re not changing the subject, are you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, no, I’ve never thought about that. I guess it wouldn’t only be different with regards to technology, would it?” 

“It’s 2013. A lot of time has passed since this loop was first made. And I’m surrounded by people with 1940 mentalities.” 

“Well, I’d like to think I’ve changed since 1940,” Horace said. “What’s this have to do with anything?” 

“Never mind, it’s stupid.” 

“Enoch —” 

“No, I mean it. You should go now.” 

“If it’s bothering you this much then, no matter how trivial it may be to some, it’s clearly important to you.” 

“There’s something wrong with me,” Enoch said quietly after a moment. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, mate.” 

“Yes there is. It’s bad, gross.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Enoch looked up again just as a tear escaped his scared eyes. Horace was taken aback. He’d never seen Enoch cry. Never. 

“Horace, I’m not attracted to girls,” he said with a shuddered breath. 

“Maybe that’s because you’re prepubescent,” Horace suggested. 

“No, it’s because I’m gay.” 

Speechlessness. 

Silent tears spilled over Enoch’s face, but he refused to bring them any attention by wiping them. It was the first time he’d said the words aloud. It made it feel a whole lot more real, more final. 

And to his surprise, Horace began to laugh. 

“Is this a joke? Did Millard tell you? Come on, Millard, you can come out now, show yourself.” 

“What?” Enoch asked. “Just say you hate me and leave, you don’t have to bring Millard into this.” 

“You’re serious, then?” Horace asked, voice softening. 

“Dead serious.” 

Horace leaned in closer and Enoch looked up once more, realizing for the first time that the boy opposite him was just as red as he was. 

“So do you, you know, like anyone?” Horace asked softly. 

“Me? Enoch? Like somebody?” He let out a quick, uncomfortable laugh. 

“You do!” Horace said. “Oh bird, you totally do!” Enoch scowled. 

“What was it that you told Millard,” he asked. 

“Don’t go changing the subject on me O’Connor.” 

“I’ll do as I please Somnusson.” Enoch grinned and realized that he’d stopped crying. 

Their faces were mere inches apart, something both boys were fervently aware of. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Horace said again, resting his hand on Enoch’s knee. 

Enoch felt his breath hitch. 

And then they kissed — for real this time. Neither of them could say who leaned in first, but neither cared. All they cared about was the fact that the lips of the other were on their own. 

Enoch felt infinite. Maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t so pointless after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, it's three in the morning, but I had fun writing it. I've shipped them since I first read Hollow City a couple years ago. Thank you so much for reading! Constructive critisism is much appreciated! :)


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